


Hearts Drawn in Bubbles

by Muccamukk



Category: Marvel Adventures: Avengers, Marvel Adventures: Iron Man
Genre: Assumes All of Marvel Adventures Is One Canon, Canon Compliant, Coffee Shops, First Dates, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Recovery, Romantic Fluff, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 21:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16072124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: All Tony wants to do is hang out in his mom's cafe and not think about A.I.M. or Yinsen's legacy, or the suit of armour he's totally not building in his apartment. A handsome artist trying to sell his retro-futurist drawings seems like the perfect kind of distraction. Steve might be a bit odd, but he hasn't heard of Stark International, and Tony's dying to go on a normal date for once in his life. And then, of course, there's Hydra.This is not, strictly speaking, an AU.





	Hearts Drawn in Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> You probably don't really need to know much in the way of continuity to follow this, but for the curious: This is set after _Marvel Adventures: Iron Man_ #1 (in which Tony is yelled at by Yinsen, kidnapped by A.I.M., and yelled at by Yinsen again while they build the Mark I armours, but leaves off the framing story where Tony and Rhodey build and test the Mark II armour). It is also set after _Marvel Adventures: Super Heroes_ #8 and #12 (in which S.H.I.E.L.D. wakes up Steve, he meets Rick Jones and Major Sharon Carter, and fights Hydra inside the Internet). It's set before _Marvel Adventures: Avengers_ , as there isn't an Avengers team yet. I realise all of this probably isn't meant to be in continuity, but it is now, so there.
> 
> Huge thank you to Robin_tCJ for beta reading this. Thanks also to everyone at the 616 Stony Discord for all the encouragement and word wars.

Tony had designed robots less complicated than the workings of this Italian espresso machine. Now that he had it apart, he was confident that he could get it back together again. What he was not confident of was that it would be working any better than it had been when he'd started taking it apart. Tony would have grouched that he was never going to get the coffee grounds out from under his fingernails, but it had been blood embedded there just two weeks before, and that had come out just fine.

Tony glanced at the roll of paper towel with the parts laid out across it and tried not to see Yinsen's workbench.

"Hello?"

Tony started and scowled at having been careless enough to leave the door unlocked. He'd just opened his mouth to yell that the cafe was closed when he looked over the counter. The intruder was standing in the entrance with one hand holding the door open, looking tentative and flighty. Tony blinked. A hundred Dashiell Hammett lines about legs only stopped by the floor and blue eyes you could drown in flashed through his mind. Only Hammett hadn't mentioned the muscles that had muscles in such a complementary way, or anything about blue cotton t-shirts losing a war with a man's shoulders or jeans that had been spray painted on. In short, the after-hours visitor was a _dish_.

Tony's mouth was hanging open. He closed it, swallowed hard, and said, "We closed at four. Open at six thirty tomorrow, bright and early."

"Oh," the stranger said. "I'm sorry. I was just wondering..." He gestured at the portfolio under his arm, which Tony had not previously noticed for the biceps. "My friend Rick says that you sell art? On the walls?" He said that with enough doubt in his voice that Tony wondered if he hadn't been in a cafe at any point in the last ten years. Maybe he just lived in the gym. He didn't look like your typical pin-headed gym bunny though; he looked like a athlete, maybe a swimmer or a gymnast.

Tony was still staring. He looked away long enough to round the counter and stand in front of the door, then kept his eyes fixed on the stranger's. They weren't blue; they were _azure_. "Uh," he said. There was indeed art on the walls, which was indeed for sale. How it had gotten there, he had no idea. "I'm just fixing the espresso machine?"

"Rick said I should look it up online," the man continued, still trying to explain himself, and not really paying attention to Tony's protest, "but last time I went in The Internet, I almost got trapped there."

"Yeah, that happens," Tony said, though he was beginning to wonder if this man was from one of those religious groups that didn't have much to do with modern society, or maybe the guy had been in prison. For all his good looks and physical confidence, he seemed a little out of place in a way that Tony couldn't quite pin down. He couldn't place the man's accent either. It sounded true blue New York, but neither Brooklyn nor Queens was quite right. It had a little more Irish in it maybe?

They were still standing in the doorway, and Tony realised that he was going to have to either get rid of this guy, or invite him in. This was New York. Letting attractive strangers into your place of business after hours wasn't something that tended to end well. There was a variety of cautionary movies on the topic. Tony stepped back and held the door open. "My name's Tony, by the way, and I know nothing about art." He left off the last name. It was kind of nice not being recognised.

"Steve Rogers," the man said, and held out his hand. His grip was firm, but not crushing, and his palms were calloused like Tony's. "And I'm sure all my ideas about art are hopelessly old fashioned."

Tony glanced at the record player behind the counter, the red laminate tables, and the chalkboard menu. "Hopelessly old fashioned happens to be the hot in thing right now," he noted.

Steve's mouth quirked as he looked around, and Tony got the impression that he found that funny somehow, but he didn't say anything past, "Do you work here, or are you just in to fix the"—the gestured at the guts of the espresso machine—"the machine thing?"

"Neither, both," Tony said, not really wanting to get into it. He glanced at his phone. It was getting on to six, and the days were short enough now that the street lights were already coming on. He should get going, back to his apartment and the long shadow cast by a suit of armour he didn't know what to do with, and long e-mails from Rhodey subtly suggesting he see a psychologist. "It's my mom's place," he said which sounded weird now that he said it. Tony Stark, tech genius and billionaire and he was working for his mom. Well, working at his mom's business. If you could call it working when he wasn't getting paid. "I'm just helping out for a week or so, while I'm in town."

"Oh," Steve said and gave Tony another look. Their gazes held a moment too long, and Tony tried to sort through the signals. "Well, will your mom be back this evening? Or should I send her an Internet mail?"

"Internet..." Tony gave up on that one. "Yeah, she'll be by, but probably not for an hour or so." Maybe midnight. Tony had come by his sleep habits honestly, at least. "I'd come back..." When? It would be a zoo when they were open, and post-closing in-the-middle-of-cashing-out Maria Stark wasn't something anyone should have to deal with.

Steve was looking dismayed, and his cheeks were starting to heat up. He was fidgeting with the edge of his portfolio like he wanted to make a break for it. "This was a dumb idea," he said. "I don't know why I..."

"No, wait." Of all the shitty things that had happened in the last month, this was one that Tony could fix. "Look, I've got an idea: I'll text Mom and see what she's doing; we go get something to eat, and we can come back here when she shows."

"All right," Steve said, and smiled. He rocked back a bit as he straightened. He was a few inches taller than Tony, and about a third again his bulk, but had a way of hunching in a bit when he was nervous. Now that he was at his full height, Tony wanted to climb him like a palm tree. "You move fast, Tony," Steve commented.

"That has been said," Tony admitted.

"Well, why not?" Steve asked. "Rick keeps telling me I should make more friends."

Tony wondered who Rick was. Steve's parole officer maybe? "'Friends,' sure."

Again Steve smiled like that was a private joke that he was never going to get around to explaining. "I'm still getting used to that," Steve said, which Tony didn't especially get, but then he added, "Where's good around here?"

"You like sushi?" Tony asked, and Steve shrugged slightly like he had no idea what Tony was talking about but was willing to go along with whatever. "There's a great sushi bar a half a block from here. We can split a love boat."

Steve laughed, he had a sort of low chuckle that hit Tony right in the gut—and lower down. "Sure," he said. "That sounds swell."

 _Swell?_ "You weren't kidding about being hopelessly old fashioned," Tony said. This time he made sure to lock up properly. The espresso machine could wait. Tony was going to go on a normal date with a (relatively) normal guy, just like Rhodey kept telling him he should.

"'Swell,'" Steve muttered under his breath, like he'd only just realised it was the wrong word. He bit his lower lip, showing a flash of even white teeth, which definitely did things to Tony. "I'm told I take some getting used to," he said, embarrassed again.

Tony led the way down the sidewalk, weaving through the pre-theatre dinner crowds. Steve followed him easily, clearly used to this kind of press. "An acquired taste, huh?" Tony asked. "Like scotch or leather?"

"Sure, something like that," Steve agreed. This was about the time when a straight man would tell Tony to cool his jets, so Tony assumed they were on the same page in that regard. "What about you?"

"I'm a love me or hate me kind of guy," Tony answered easily. "If you haven't tried to kill me by the end of dinner, I'm going to assume it's not the latter." He only wished he were joking about that.

"Ha. Well, I guess we'll see." Steve didn't sound to worried about it though. He also didn't sound like he had a clue who Tony was.

The sushi bar was in a side street and down a set of stairs, and by some miracle hadn't caught on yet, so they were able to get a table in the back corner.

Steve frowned at the menu, eyebrows coming together as he worked something out. Tony could see he was eyeing the prices, and almost offered to take him out, but that would make it a Tony Stark date, not a normal date. He really needed just one damn thing to be normal in his life.

"It's okay once you divide it by fifteen," Steve said, like that explained something. "Love boat, huh?"

"Sure," Tony said, and ordered a sake to go with it. Steve stuck to jasmine tea.

A pause followed the waiter's exit, one where they both seemed to realise that they were on a spur of the moment date with a complete stranger, and had no idea where to start. Tony considered the weather, which was actually pretty nice for October, but that seemed inane. Usually his dates just wanted to talk about Stark-related things. Rhodey was right, he needed this.

"You're not from New York?" Steve asked, blowing the not talk about Tony's life theory out of the water.

"I was born and raised here," Tony said. "I just live in California right now. I'm thinking of moving back though. San Francisco's getting old." Anything involving looking at what his life had been like (and therefore what Tony himself had been like) before A.I.M. and Yinsen was getting old. "What about you?"

"Christie Streeter, born and bred," Steve said. "That neighbourhood's sure changed."

Tony had to wonder how old Steve was. He looked about twenty five, Tony's own age, but the gentrification of the Lower East Side had started in the 1980s, and sped forward at breakneck speeds ever since. By the millennium, only thing left of the largest slum in American history had been the tenement museum. "Your parents from there?"

"They were." Steve leaned back a little and sipped his tea, and Tony knew a _do not enter_ sign when he saw one. Miso soup saved the conversation from stalling out completely. Steve made swirling patterns in it with his china spoon, watching it rise and settle, then grinned at Tony. He really didn't seem to have had Japanese before.

"I know I said I don't know anything about art," Tony said, "but you could show my anyway?"

Steve seemed glad of the change in topic and untied the portfolio. "I'll get to practice my pitch," he said. "Rick's getting tired of hearing about it." By propping the boards between the edge of the table and the wall, Steve set the portfolio up as an easel. He folded back the cover pages and flipped over the first two pictures. "I'm calling the series 'The World of Tomorrow,'" he said.

"Like the Worlds Fair?" Tony asked.

"Right!" Steve seemed pleased that Tony had gotten the reference. "Like how we thought the future would look back then, and how it looks now." He flipped through the pictures, and Tony watched with interest. Steve had done them in a style Tony had heard called Retro-futurist, some like WPA or WWII posters with four-colour prints and art deco shapes, some like pulp magazine covers all garish colours and bold poses, and some surrealist line drawings. The subject matter was all modern day New York City. There was a stockbroker talking on a Starkphone striding across an alien landscape that was actually Times Square, a nanny and child looking at a tablet surrounded by pointillist star swirls in pen and ink, a boy flying a GoPro on a kite in the park with a caption about innovation in silk screen. Some of the figures were a little stiffly posed, but the technical proficiency was impressive.

"Huh," Tony said. He couldn't fill a postcard with what he knew about the art market, but he had a feeling these would do well with exactly the kind of people who bought ten dollar lattes in a retro-chic cafe a block off Broadway. They were ironic. For some reason, Tony hadn't expected irony from Steve. "You getting these framed?"

"If your mom's interested in them," Steve said. He closed the case again, and didn't seem to mind that Tony hadn't said that he liked them. "They're all originals. Rick says I should scan them into a computer and post them on The Internet"—he said this with clear capital letters again—"put them on something called Red Bubbles?"

Tony shrugged. He didn't know what that was either, but he mentally upgraded Rick from parole officer to some kind of counsellor. The waiter showed up with the sushi boat. Steve blinked at it, then started in, wielding chopsticks like a boy who'd grown up two blocks from Chinatown. Tony didn't know if he was ever going to figure this man out, but he planned to have fun trying.

Maria texted back when they were having a tug of war over the last shrimp tempura, causing Tony to lose. "Oh," Tony said. "She's gone to Albany. Says she'll be back by opening tomorrow."

Steve didn't look like he was disappointed at being led on. "Six thirty, right?"

"Right. Well, probably more like five, for her." Tony glanced at his watch, time had flown by. "Which is when I have to have that espresso machine fixed."

"Sorry, I've been keeping you from your work," Steve said. He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers, keeping both going in opposite patterns for a moment before stilling them and taking another piece of salmon sashimi. Tony watched him pop it into his mouth, and Steve watched him watch.

"What were you thinking?" Tony asked. He had to take a sip of sake to wet his lips. "Asking me back to your place?"

Steve grimaced, the opposite of that secretive smile. "Not really. I live in... military housing, on base. It wouldn't be..."

"It's the twenty first century!" Tony exclaimed. "We're in New York. You can't tell me that they'd care." Though now that he'd put Steve in the army, it seemed likely that he was some kind of special forces, and they weren't always as relaxed about the whole Don't Ask Don't Tell repeal.

Steve shook his head. "I just don't want them to know any more of my business than they already do."

Which was exactly why Tony hadn't asked Steve back to his disaster zone of an apartment. It was one thing to take a guy home on a first date, another entirely to have him meet your killer armour. He briefly considered the storeroom of the cafe, and then decided that he liked his skin where it was. Maria would know. She always knew. He had to fix that damn machine anyway, dammit. "Another time?" he asked instead.

"You bet," Steve said with what seemed like real enthusiasm. Tony couldn't help but be gratified. "I'll swing by just before opening tomorrow to talk to your mom. Um... Mrs....?"

"Ms. Stark," Tony said, and wondered if that would be what finally tipped Steve off, but he just said the name to himself to remember it, and didn't ask if that made Tony _The_ Tony Stark, or what.

Steve paid his half of the bill in cash, fingers lingering on the twenty like it was something extraordinary. "Fifteen," he muttered again. Maybe it was some kind of currency exchange? "Thanks, Tony," he said when they were back up at street level. "I had a real swell, uh, good time."

"Yeah, me too," Tony said, and was surprised at how much he meant it. Rhodey was right, damn him. Tony did need to go on more normal dates.

"Hey, Tony," Steve said. He was hovering just a little too close to Tony, hands in his pockets, the corner of Tony's unzipped jacket just touching his forearm.

Tony's mouth was dry again. "Yeah?"

"It's been a while since I've done this," Steve said, hunching in again, trying to make himself look a little smaller, "and I guess I'm used to different ways of asking what a fellow wants"—he took a deep breath and pulled his hands out of his pockets, resting the right on Tony's shoulder—"so forgive me if I've got you wrong, but would you mind a goodnight kiss?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Tony said, and leaned up to close the distance between them.

Steve's mouth was gentle, parting his lips more than kissing, but his fingers tightened on Tony's shoulder and he sighed deeply. Tony pulled back, not wanting to lay on too much too soon, despite still toying with that 'climbing Steve like a palm tree' idea.

They stood, their noses inches apart, and considered each other. Then Steve pulled out a fountain pen, and with a feather touch wrote his number on the back of Tony's hand. "In case you're not up at five," he said, and kissed Tony's knuckles like they were in a movie. Then he strode back towards Broadway and disappeared into the swirl of traffic.

"Wow," Tony said, and tried to get his head screwed on straight. He should go on normal dates more often.

* * *

Tony stayed up to two a.m. getting the espresso machine working again, cleaned up, and then crashed face down on the counter, waking only when his mom unlocked the door two hours later.

Maria poked Tony in the shoulder with her pen. "You afraid of your apartment or something, Tones?" she asked, giving the already immaculate counter another wipe down before she started pulling trays of dough out of the fridge to warm. "Because you can move in with me."

"I..." Tony considered this: Maria's midtown mansion bordering on central park, all meals provided, Edwin Jarvis to cater to his every whim. "I think I need the space more than the company."

"What you need right now is a shower," Maria said, but not harshly. Tony knew she worried, and he was sorry for that. She said she hadn't believed he was dead when he'd been held by A.I.M. and the media had declared him lost at sea, but she didn't believe Howard was dead to this day, so there was that. Tony also came by his occasionally shaky grip on reality honestly, probably from both sides of the family. "Go home, kitten," Maria told him.

"Right," Tony said, and kissed her on the cheek before slouching back towards his apartment.

He felt like there was something he should remember, but it wasn't until he actually did get home and had climbed in the shower that he thought of Steve's number on his hand. It had already blurred to nothing under the water.

"Damn," Tony muttered. He didn't want to have to go begging to Maria for the number. Steve had been right about enough people knowing his business. Tony kicked the piles of discarded clothes and half-finished electronics off his bed, and flopped on top of the covers. He would track down Steve later. How many S. Rogers could there be in Manhattan? He would write an algorithm to find him, no asking his mom for help involved. Tony drifted to sleep with the lines of code running through his head, and didn't wake up for ten hours.

Tony sauntered into the cafe just as it was closing, asking if there was anything he could do to help, which earned him a glare from both his mother and a pink-haired barista. Tony frowned right back at the kid, trying to work out if he was a new hire, or just had new hair.

There was a time when Tony had known every Stark employee by name, but he felt like that probably wasn't true any more either. He really needed to get his act together. Yinsen had told him to prove that he could be better, and so far he'd mostly moped and worked on his insomnia. Tony was pretty sure that wasn't what improving yourself meant.

"Like the new art?" Maria asked. Her fingers were flashing over the banker's calculator as she went through the receipts, and she talked without looking up.

Tony looked around, and saw the usual multi media abstractions scattered about the place. They were the kind of things that always convinced Tony that he would never understand modern art, and that sold like hotcakes. There had been someone doing collages of golden age comic prints—which Tony could at least appreciate on a nostalgic level—but Maria had sold out of those recently. She'd said something about Captain America's return putting a run on them, and then said Tony should pay more attention to the news. Now, the large piece in the corner next to the window had been replaced by three of Steve's drawings, all in simple chrome frames. Tony didn't completely get what Steve was doing either, or not all the time, but he liked these. Or maybe he liked them because Steve had drawn them. Either way, he said, "Sure do."

"I told your boyfriend I'd give his stuff a week's trial, but I think it will sell." Maria had been the one to put the Stark family art collection together, and the one who'd cried real tears for every piece she had to sell to pay Howard's debts. She still hadn't reclaimed them all now that she had money again, but said she was working on it.

"He's not my..." Tony started to say before he realised that that wasn't quite true. Boyfriend wasn't the word he'd have picked, but it was quite possible that Steve was his something.

"Well, he's right there, whatever he is," Maria said, and Tony turned around to find Steve loitering outside the window, waiting to be invited in like a vampire.

"Hey," Tony said when he was safely outside and out of earshot. Steve had changed into a new pair of equally tight jeans and a dove grey _I ♥ NY_ t-shirt that still didn't quite fit him. He had an honest to god basket over his arm, which was just corny enough to work with the rest of his outfit. Or maybe it was just that Steve made anything look good.

"Hey," Steve said back. "Look, I know this is a little forward, and I guess I should have waited for you to call, but would you like to have dinner with me in the park?"

"Absolutely," Tony said, because what else was he going to say to that? "Though it'll be breakfast for me."

Steve frowned like he was trying to decide if he had a comment on that, but in the end didn't say anything. Instead he led the way to the subway— which Tony hadn't stepped foot on for years—and they headed uptown.

They sat thigh to thigh on the train, Steve holding the basket in his lap. Tony tried not to think too much about the feel of Steve's muscled leg under the denim of his jeans, or what it would be like to run his hands down it, or wrap his own legs around it. He didn't have anything to put in his own lap, after all.

Steve chatted about his art and how much he'd liked "Ms. Stark"—who must really have been pouring on the charm—and the cost of getting the pictures framed. Steve seemed to have a business plan pretty well worked out, and Tony liked listening to him.

It had been a long time since Tony had thought on such a small, day-to-day scale as that, a long time since he'd been able to afford to. He wondered what his life might be like if he was just Tony from California, small-time IT guy whose mom ran a cafe, dating Steve just out of the army now trying to make a go of it with his art. He figured Steve was bound to find out eventually, but Tony wanted to try living that other life for a little while: No Stark International, no Yinsen, no crushing guilt or responsibility.

Steve led the way up to street level and across Fifth Avenue towards the park.

"Where are we going?" Tony asked. It was a clear autumn day, but the wind off the East River was brisk, and Tony pulled his jacket tighter and wondered how Steve was staying warm. The man had to generate heat like a blast furnace.

"Sheep Meadow?" Steve asked. "I like the grass that's there now."

"Okay." It was hard to get more cliche for a second date, but Tony couldn't bring himself to mind. Maybe they could huddle for warmth once they were settled in.

They picked a spot sheltered by some trees, and Steve pulled a blanket out of the top of the basket, and opened it with a flourish. "I know it's not much..." he started to say as he laid out deli sandwiches, apples and a thermos of coffee.

"It's perfect," Tony told him. They sat close enough that Tony could feel the warmth coming off Steve, and think about what he'd be like to sleep next to, not that he hadn't already been thinking about it. He needed to just suck it up and invite Steve back to his place. The problem was that it would be pretty hard to explain a penthouse apartment in a city he didn't live in without telling him about SI and all the rest. Then there was the armour.

Steve leaned in and kissed the side of Tony's neck, and then said right into his ear, "There's someone behind us taking pictures with their phone. Someone on the subway was too."

"Yeah, that happens to me a lot," Tony answered through gritted teeth. "Just ignore them." Well, that had been fun while it lasted.

"Okay," Steve said. He waited for Steve to pull away, to be as mad as hell at him for lying by omission, but Steve just tipped his head so that his forehead rested against Tony's hair. "Are they filming you because you're a billionaire inventor?"

Tony blinked hard. "Yeah, I guess they are," he said. "Didn't know you recognised me."

"Rick recognised your name," Steve said, "and then I looked you up online. Sorry."

"Right." Tony could pretty easily imagine what had elicited the apology. He didn't vanity google for a reason, but Pepper and Rhodey gave him the highlights. "I thought you didn't go online because you got stuck there."

"Oh, no. I was worried at first, but Major Carter made sure that wouldn't happen again," Steve said airily, and again Tony had the feeling that they were talking past each other, but Steve's breath was still warm in his ear, and he was having trouble thinking. "Anyway, I reckoned you didn't want to make a big deal about it, especially after your crash, but Rick thought I should tell you that I knew, so that we didn't miscommunicate."

"Who is Rick again?" Tony asked, pulling away a little. If Steve knew, and this Rick knew, then Tony had to start running the usual mental calculus he associated with people who wanted to date Tony Stark of Stark International, and for that he needed a clear head.

"He's a singer, plays on the street and does kids shows, bar mitzvahs and costume parties," Steve said. Then because he was apparently committed to the no misunderstanding thing, added less obscurely, "We met on my first day, uh, out. He's helping me adjust."

So Tony had been half right on the guidance counsellor thing, in a wonky sort of way. "How long did you serve?" he asked.

Steve fell back on the blanket and folded his hands behind his head, giving Tony a great view of flexing pectorals. "You know, sometimes it feels like I signed up in 1940."

"That'd make you, what, ninety?" Tony asked, playing along with the joke, despite how tired Steve sounded.

"Ninety-seven last July," Steve answered. He'd worked that out fast, like with the dividing by fifteen thing he'd been doing earlier, Steve seemed pretty good with mental math. He smiled up at Tony, drawing back into himself, and said, "I served for almost five years, which I guess makes me twenty four."

Pretty much exactly Tony's age, then, and they'd been at about the same age when they'd given up control of their life for service, too: Steve to his country, Tony quitting M.I.T. to bail out his father's debts. "What are you going to do now that you're out?"

Steve shook his head slightly. "I thought about that when I was... overseas, or I tried to. Back then, I thought I wanted to rest, mostly, get some decent chow, sleep for about a century." He laughed at that last comment and looked away to hide some private grief. "Now... I guess I'm still in, really. I'll serve here, in the US. I don't know what else to do with myself. Meeting you has been about the first regular sort of thing I've done, and even that's kind of strange."

"Because I'm famous?" Tony asked, wondering if Steve, too, would have preferred to be with Tony the IT guy from California.

"I guess that, too," Steve said, staring up at the clear sky like he could see through the atmosphere to something written in the stars. "I guess I mean being open about dating a fellow. I'm used to keeping that under wraps. It's nice."

"Well, if you're dating me, it's not going to be under wraps," Tony said. He turned to look down at Steve, and caught the girl with the phone out of the corner of his eye. "You're about to be on every gossip site across the Internet." Tony worried that the exposure would bother Steve—it bothered most people who weren't dating Tony specifically for the fame and glory—but Steve just flexed his shoulders in a shrug.

"Some things haven't changed," was all he said. He sat up and flipped open the pastry box, revealing macarons. "Dessert?"

Tony's mind tracked back to the idea that this might be some kind of con that Steve and this Rick fellow were trying to run on him, though he wasn't yet sure what the angle might be. Surely Steve was too good to be true, and there was no way that Tony deserved this kind of luck. But he'd always figured that he was a good judge of character, and he couldn't square Steve with being a conman. Maybe that was just hormones talking, but he didn't think so. Tony took a raspberry macaron, and tried to think of what to do next if he wanted to find out for sure.

"I have a question, though," Steve said. He'd bitten half way through a pistachio macaron and was studying the gooey green interior.

"No industrial secrets, goods on ex boyfriends, or stock tips," Tony said. "Other than that, shoot."

Steve popped the other half of the macaron in his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "No, I was wondering about the cafe. Don't you support your mom?" There was an accusatory undertone in the question that Tony didn't like, but maybe that was it was because he'd lived more than his share of guilt about that over the years. Then Tony remembered Steve talking about his own parents in the past tense, and felt a flash of empathy. Had Steve not been able to look after his own mother?

"I offered," Tony said. "She could spend her life on an island in the South Pacific with perfectly-tanned cabana boys peeling her grapes." Tony had thought that when they'd crawled out of the hole that his dad had left them in, that Maria would want that. Instead, she'd done this. He tried to think of a way to summarise what _this_ was exactly, something more detailed than the usual, _Mom likes a challenge,_ he offered reporters. "She was a rich girl who became a society wife, always had someone looking after her. Then Dad died, and..." and everything had fallen apart, and Maria hadn't had a damn clue what to do with Stark Industries, had had no idea that the company had been sinking into debt for years and was then teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. Maria had needed to pull her teenage son out of university and get him to help her fix their lives, and had hated herself for every part of that. All of that was too much to say on a second date, and wasn't Steve's business anyway. "She needs to know that if something happens to me, and SI vanishes in a puff of bad business decisions, that she'll be able to handle herself," Tony said. "So she takes on projects that are supposed to be next to impossible to turn a profit on and sees if she can make them take off. Someone bet her she couldn't run a cafe in the theatre district so here we are. She'll sell it in a few years, and move on to something else someone has told her is stupidly difficult. Profits go to charity, when she makes them, which is a surprising amount of the time." That was the medium-length version of the story, more than he'd told pretty much anyone except Rhodey and Pepper.

"Huh." Steve thought for a minute, then asked, "Why doesn't she help run your business, Stark International?"

Tony almost said, _because she wants to burn it to the ground, and has for years_. "Reminds her of Dad," he said, and let Steve take that how he would.

It seemed to satisfy his curiosity anyway. Steve stuffed a chocolate macaron in his mouth and chewed for a moment before he asked, "What do you want to do next?"

They were back on date territory, and Tony was grateful. He shrugged and said, "I'm easy. Which, you'll be hearing a lot about, I warn you."

"I'm sure I will," Steve said easily. He glanced across the park to the north. "I was thinking paddle boat on the lake."

There was a line at which Tony was going to draw his boundaries around cheesy date activities, and rental boats was going to have to be it. "I have something better than that."

"Oh yeah?" Steve asked, and leaned in for a kiss, but Tony was already flipping through his phone contacts, and only half caught it on his cheek. Steve laughed, a real laugh this time, and pushed him onto his back and kissed him on the lips.

"Hush, you're going to like this," Tony said between kisses. He texted a buddy who owned a sweet little EC-135 to come meet them on the nearest sky scraper with a helipad.

"Oh, yeah?" Steve asked, he nibbled at Tony's ear, and his hand was spread flat across Tony's stomach, and Tony learned that he'd been right about how warm Steve would be in bed.

Then Steve's phone went off, and he sat up so fast that Tony thought he was going to leap to his feet and salute a four-star general. Instead he checked his messages and started packing up the picnic stuff.

"Duty calls?" Tony asked.

"Yeah." Steve at least sounded genuinely regretful, but also distracted by whatever had been in the text. "I'll have to leave you the basket."

"As long as you promise to come back for it," Tony said, which was straight out of those hallmark movies that Pepper liked, but seemed to do the trick. Steve grinned at him and leaned in for a kiss before jogging off towards Columbus Circle. Maybe they didn't have Hallmark movies in Afghanistan or wherever Steve had been serving, or maybe Steve was just a sucker for cheesy lines. Tony watched Steve's ass as he disappeared down the the bridal path, and wondered if he'd heard the one about how Tony hated to see him leave but loved to watch him go. Tony would have to try it out next time.

If there was a next time after Steve realised what the paparazzi shitstorm was going to be like, picnic basket or no. And Tony still hadn't gotten his number.

* * *

Rhodey texted Tony within the hour to ask if he was coming back West, which he did daily, but this time added, "Or you too distracted by little blond number?"

Tony replied that there was 'nothing little about him' with a smirk emoji, and then asked, "How bad press?"

"Ok. Think it's cute," Rhodey answered a minute later: "'Romance in the Park: Who Is Tall, Blond and Handsome?' 'Brush with Death Leads Stark to New Mystery Lover.'"

"No Stark puns?"

"Not sending you those."

"Thanks, buddy." Tony started to type that he'd be back soon, but he still honestly didn't know what he was going to do. Pepper and Rhodey were holding down the fort, but that would only work for so long.

Tony had to go back, and he had to do it soon. Before he did that, he needed to decide what to do with Yinsen's dying words: "I know I have done all I could in service of my fellow man. I just hope that when your time comes, you will be able to say the same." And if those words had anything to do with the new suit of armour growing in his apartment, or if that was a distraction, or an easy way out.

Meanwhile, he had SI's legal department trying to dig up dirt on A.I.M. And was donating to a variety of charities in Yinsen's home country of Madripoor, but that didn't feel like enough either.

Tony felt like this was the kind of thing Steve might know, but he didn't want to admit what had happened to him on that island. Tony hadn't told anyone save for Rhodey, and now he was avoiding Rhodey. He'd flown three thousand miles and holed up with his mother to avoid having to talk about what had happened to him; he wasn't going to break down on the nearest perfectly muscled shoulder now. Probably.

Tony finally texted, "Back when I can."

"Pepper says, '<3 <3 <3,'" Rhodey answered a second later.

That was good to hear. There had been a period where Pepper had said she was never speaking to Tony again for letting her spend over a week thinking he was dead, kidnapped or not. Although Rhodey had said Pepper was the one who'd insisted that they keep looking for Tony when the official search had given up.

Tony stared at the chat icon—Rhodey glaring at Tony, annoyed at the camera jammed in his face—and realised how much he missed them. He would go back soon, he decided, no matter what he worked out or failed to work out about Yinsen's legacy. This thing with Steve wasn't going to last anyway. That kind of relationship never did.

* * *

Steve didn't show at the coffeeshop at closing the next day, or for the next hour while Tony moped around making a token effort to help sweeping up. He'd brought the picnic basket and everything. Maria watched him prodding at piles of dirt for a while, and then on Tony's third heartfelt sigh, said, "Can you do me a favour?"

Tony shrugged. He might as well. It wasn't like he had anything else to do that afternoon, apparently. "Sure."

"Can you call that Rogers kid and say I want three more of his pieces?" Maria asked without looking up from her stack of receipts. "Two of the ones here already have buyers, and I don't want to leave a gap. His number's in the _Art_ folder in the safe."

Well, that had been obvious. "Sure," Tony said, giving the broom to barista, who was definitely a different person today, not just different hair. "No problem."

He shut the supply room door before saving Steve's number in his phone and ringing him up. Tony was pretty clearly welcome to call, he thought, but he couldn't say no to the excuse of it being about business. Damn, when had Tony Stark gotten so tentative about a damn date? Tony had used to be the 'sweep them off their feet' type. He'd used to do everything in the grandest style possible, right up until he'd found out it was getting people killed.

The phone rang right through to one of those automated voice messages that didn't even have a space for Steve to put his name, just said, "The number you have dialled is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone," before reading out a menu of what pressing different keys might do. It at least gave Tony a second to think about what to say, even if all he could come up with was, "Hey, it's Tony. Guess you're out saving the country. Mom wants to buy some more of your art, and I want something, too. See you soon."

Tony winced and ended the call. He'd sounded like a mob boss. Oh well. He couldn't take the message back now that it was sent, and he didn't have to admit to washing off Steve's number before he remembered to write it on something other than his hand. Tony should buy Steve a sharpie.

Tony went home and worked on his armour until he fell asleep. There was no room to test it, but owning the top two floors of a building did have the benefit of all the soundproofing and lab equipment he could use. He needed Rhodey to go over the whole thing properly, but Tony liked the look of this version.

* * *

Steve texted him around eight the next night, a straightforward "Why don't you come up some time and see me," with an address attached.

Tony punched the air, and then changed three times. He'd only gotten up a few hours before, but had drunk a pot of coffee and gone out to an all-day breakfast place and therefore felt mostly alive.

He showed up at Steve's in a clinging crimson cashmere sweater and charcoal slacks, holding a bottle of Bordeaux.

If Steve's place was army housing, it was very covert army housing: a postage-stamp apartment near the park with a view of a brick wall. Tony hoped Steve had just moved in, because the only personal possessions he could see were his art projects, and a record player with a stack of vinyls next to it.

Steve kissed Tony the second he got the door closed, wrapping his arms around Tony's shoulders and pulling their bodies together. Steve's chest felt as amazing as it looked, and his mouth was hot and urgent against Tony's. Gone was the tentative kiss of their first date. Now, Tony opened his mouth under Steve's and tilted his head back and let Steve take what he wanted. His tongue touched Steve's then moved aside to let Steve trace the inside of his teeth while Steve's hands ran up and down Tony's back.

"I like your sweater," Steve said in his ear and then he rubbed his face against Tony's chest like a cat. "Soft."

The old line about liking it better on the floor ran through Tony's head, but then he thought about the angry red and pink scarring over his heart and said, "Why don't I leave it on, then?" and Steve didn't seem to mind.

Tony carded has hands through Steve's hair, which was still damp from the shower. Now that he looked closely, Tony saw that Steve had a healing cut across one eyebrow, and a bruise on the side of his mouth. Those hadn't been there two days ago. When Tony pulled Steve's t-shirt out of his jeans, he saw fading bruises all across his back. Steve looked like he'd been through the a mill, possibly literally, but whatever it was must have happened before they even met. The bruises had the sickly yellow of deep tissue damage that had been heeling for weeks.

"You all right?" Tony asked, though it was hard to think with Steve's hands sliding under his belt and down to grab his ass.

"Mmm?" Steve was kissing Tony's neck, and didn't even seem to know what the question was.

"You look like you took some hits." Tony traced the line of the darkest bruise, this one still blue and purple at the centre.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. It's all healed now. I'm just happy you're here." Steve dropped to his knees and unbuckled Tony's belt, and there went any question of where the bruises had come from.

Tony had gone from zero to painfully hard in about a kiss and a half, and he wanted to grab Steve and thrust into his face, grinding right through his slacks—Christ he wanted to feel that mouth on his dick—but he held perfectly still and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Steve pulled Tony's slacks down to his knees and nuzzled at the front of his shorts. Tony could feel Steve's breath warm and humid through the thin cotton, and he shivered at the same time as a bolt of heat shot through him.

"You have any idea what you look like?" Tony asked.

From the way Steve looked up through his eyelashes and grinned, he did. "Want a tongue bath, Tony?"

It was an odd turn of phrase, but it did put a very vivid and specific image in Tony's mind, and he already felt his knees wobble. "Hell yeah. Can I sit down first?"

"Sure," Steve said, and peeled his t-shirt off while Tony settled on the edge of the bed and kicked off his pants and shoes.

Steve _crawled_ over to the bed, his blue-jeaned ass waggling as he went—which image Tony stowed away for a future cold dark night—and settled between Tony's spread legs. He looked up again, still smiling, but a little shyly now. Christ, they were both half naked, and Steve's nose was about two centimetres from Tony's cock, and now Steve was shy? That thought shorted out when Steve closed the gap and rubbed his faintly stubbled cheek along the length of Tony's cock.

"Jeeeeezus," Tony gasped. He gripped the edge of the bed and watched avidly as Steve ran the tip of this tongue around the base of his cock. The sensation echoed through Tony's body, and the image of Steve's fair skin and pink tongue against his purpling cock made him want to close his eyes in hope the after image would burn onto his retina forever.

Steve moved with a deliberation that had to be designed to drive Tony nuts. Every move he made dragged a sound out of Tony's body, as if Steve were playing him like an instrument. Steve puffed cold air onto his balls, and Tony sucked in a sharp breath; Steve licked up his cock, and Tony made a needy high whine; Steve sucked on just the very tip of his cock, and Tony choked back a sob. He'd balled up the quilt in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, because the blond head bobbing up and down over his cock, and the broad expanse of perfect shoulders tapering to lean jean-hugged hips was too much to look at without coming then and there.

"How you doing?" Steve asked, pulling away to look up. Tony had thought the man was too good to be true, but right now it seemed like all he learned from getting stuck on the Internet was how to be a massive troll.

"Just fine," Tony replied. "I think you could slow down a bit though, you know? Really drag it out?"

"Okay," Steve said cheerfully, and went back to studiously tracing patterns around Tony's cock like he was wrapping a maypole with his tongue.

"Fuck. I was kidding!"

"Mmm?" Steve said, and wouldn't be rushed. He took one of Tony's balls between his lips, grip feather soft, and lapped at it, then sucked lightly. Steve paused, like a wind up doll with a stuck gear, just breathing against the inside of Tony's thigh, and when he started again, did the same to the other ball. He sucked a little harder this time.

Tony started to swear, and didn't stop until he found he couldn't breathe past the incredible tension and need building in his cock. His heart pounded, and his blood seemed to sing with how much he wanted to thrust into Steve's mouth. "Oh, Christ, please," he said faintly, all the air seemingly forced out of his lungs.

Steve didn't answer, but licked that spiral pattern out again, covering every millimetre of skin from root to tip of Tony's cock. He took the tip in his mouth and slid down, then up then down again, his movements shallow but quick.

It was too much, and the pressure that had been building in the pit of Tony's stomach and making his head buzz, released in a rush. He groaned and patted at Steve's shoulders as he rode it out.

Steve sucked lightly, running the soft top of his tongue along Tony's sensitive cock—back and forth, back and forth—as Tony rode it out, wishing he could make this feeling of completion last forever even as it was fading away. When he was finally drained, Tony fell backwards across the bed.

"Holy fuck," he sighed, "are you some kind of magician? It feels like you're a magician. Teach me your secrets. Also, get up here, and let me return the favour."

"Okay, okay," Steve said, laughing. He stood up, and shucked out of his his jeans. He wasn't wearing any shorts. His cock curved up, dark and hard, and Tony's eyes flicked down his long muscled legs and the back up, focusing on it. Tony licked his lips, slowly, and Steve laughed again. "Hey, roll over."

"You want to fuck me? Because I'd be completely fine with that," Tony said. His whole body was awash with endorphins, and every nerve felt lit up. Taking it up the ass right now would hurt, but it would hurt so good.

"No, I want room on the bed," Steve said. "I mean, I could. It's, well, I guess it's been a while. I was thinking you could give me a hand or something, but if you really want—"

Steve wasn't smiling any more, which was unacceptable. "I am genuinely delighted, honoured even, to jerk you off," Tony said, and scooted over to make room for Steve on the bed.

Steve lay on his back, completely naked now, and Tony rolled over to lay his head on Steve's chest. He liked the steady thump of Steve's heart under his ear. Steve's chest was covered in the kind of fine blond hairs that you really only noticed close up, and they felt soft against Tony's cheek. A scattering of fading bruises marked Steve's stomach. Tony ignored them, and ran his hand down Steve's chest, smoothing the hairs and then running backwards against them. Steve's whole body rumbled as he moaned and his hand tightened on Tony's shoulder, then rubbed up and down the softness of his sweater. Tony tipped his head enough to lick Steve's nipple, and Steve made a soft, "mmmm" sound in response. He followed the trail of hairs below Steve's bellybutton, smoothing them back and forth a couple of times, listing to how it made Steve's breath hitch.

The lassitude that followed a really great orgasm still lay heavily on Tony, and he liked this easy touching. He liked even more how responsive Steve was to his touch. He stopped a centimetre short of touching Steve's cock, and held his fingers up to Steve's mouth. Steve sucked all four in at once, running his tongue along them like he'd just been licking Tony's cock. Tony felt a small twitch of interest in his groin, but knew he wouldn't get hard again soon. He pulled his hand away, and wrapped it lightly around Steve's cock.

Steve's breath caught, but his heartbeat stayed steady as a metronome.

"Quite the athlete," Tony said and stroked lightly up the length of Steve's cock, the spit making the glide easy. He wasn't applying any pressure yet, just getting a feel for things.

"I try," Steve said. "Gosh, that feels good."

Tony had rolled his thumb across the tip of Steve's cock, pushing the glans back and smearing pre-come across it. He did it again, just to hear the way Steve whimpered. "It really has been a while for you, huh?"

"You have no idea," Steve said between gasps. "Feels like seventy years."

The spit was drying, making Tony's callouses catch as he stroked back down. Steve whimpered and rolled his hips up under Tony's touch, and Tony made a note that maybe Steve liked a little bit of pain, or intensity at least. He was going to enjoy learning exactly what Steve liked, if he was lucky enough to get the chance. He tightened his hand around Steve's shaft and squeezed a little harder than he usually would, and was rewarded with Steve breathing Tony's name and kissing his hair. When he dragged his hand back up, pulling Steve's skin up with the stroke, Steve heart rate finally started to pick up.

Tony could could feel the deep _thud thud thud_ under his ear, and loved that he was doing that to Steve. He loved that Steve was letting him. For all that they'd fallen into bed together after two dates, Tony got the impression that Steve didn't let people this close that often. Under the open smiles and easy laugh, Tony sensed a well of reserve, and he wanted to be the one to find out exactly how deep it was. That little train of thought brought him right back to Steve fucking him, but that could be another time.

Right now he had this gorgeous man moaning and rolling his hips up every time Tony's stroked his cock. Steve kissed Tony's hair again, and then just held his lips pressed to the top of his head, and squeezed his shoulder, holding on tight as Tony touched him. Steve brought his free hand up and Tony sucked at his fingers at the same time as he sped up the strokes along Steve's cock. He thought Steve was whispering something into his hair, but he couldn't make out what it was. It didn't matter; the tone carried the meaning just fine. Steve wanted more.

Tony bit Steve's fingers lightly, just holding them between his teeth, and rubbed his thumb roughly over the head of Steve's cock. Steve gasped Tony's name again, and then started saying it over and over as Tony worked up and down his cock in sharp jerks. He moved fast and hard, and Steve writhed under his touch.

Then he went still, his breath stopping even as his heart beat harder under Tony's ear. Tony felt the release pulse under his hand, and then come splatted across Steve's stomach. Tony lightened his touch and waited until Steve had sunk limply into the mattress to let go and wipe his hand on Steve's hip.

Steve pulled his fingers out of Tony's mouth and leaned down to kiss him. He caught Tony's cheek before they got the angle right and their lips met. The kiss was slow and sloppy, and Tony could taste his own come in Steve's mouth.

"This is seriously about ten of my top five fantasies rolled into one," Tony said when he pulled away. He should get up and clean Steve up, but he didn't feel like he was ever going to move again.

"That right?" Steve asked. "Well maybe we'll see if we can get another ten next time."

"I'd be happy to repeat a couple," Tony said. Under his ear, Steve's pulse was dropping again. He really must have an amazing cardio regime.

"Me too." Steve hesitated, and Tony could almost hear him trying to work out how to say something. Tony waited, giving Steve space to think. "Tony," Steve said finally, sounding cautious.

"Yeah?"

"I guess I want to thank you."

"Wow, really? Because I thought that one went pretty well both ways."

Steve chest vibrated as he laughed. "No, not for, well I guess for that, too. It's just"—Tony's head rose and fell as Steve took a deep breath—"it's been a while, and since I got back to New York, and everything's been so different, I haven't felt like myself. I look the same, and my body works the same way, but sometimes the only time I feel like Steve Rogers is when I'm punching someone in the face, and I don't want that to be me, or I don't want that to be all that I am, anyway. When I'm with you, especially tonight, I feel like me again. I don't know if I'm making sense. Sorry."

"No, it makes perfect sense," Tony said. He wished he could say that the sex they'd just had, no matter how amazing, had pulled him entirely out of his post-A.I.M. funk, but maybe it had helped a bit. Being with Steve—and yeah getting truly spectacular blow jobs—did help. "I'll consider cheering you up part of my patriotic duty, soldier."

He felt Steve wince. "Don't say that. I used to get that line a lot, to the point where I was never sure if..." he didn't finish, but Tony got it.

"You should see the people I get," Tony said. "A couple billion dollars and some sexy new inventions, and you find yourself on everyone's bucket list."

"'Bucket list,'" Steve repeated. "Ha."

"You really are from outer space, aren't you?" Tony said. The arm he'd been lying on was starting to fall asleep, and he wanted to clean up before he had to scrub. Tony straightened and sat up, his sweater definitely needed a date with the dry cleaners, but Steve hadn't seen the extensive scarring across his chest, and therefore hadn't asked about it, so Tony would call it a win. "The point is, it's really nice to date someone who's a normal guy, no agendas, just you and me, having fucking fantastic sex."

Steve laughed again and gave Tony a shove, propelling him out of bed. Tony padded into the bathroom—which had a shower stall, a toilet and a sink, but no room to turn around twice—and came back with a warm washcloth.

"I was going to suggest a shower," Tony said, "but I don't think we'd both fit in there."

"We might." Steve lay still as Tony wiped him clean. "We would just have to get real close."

"Maybe another time." Tony checked his phone, it was just coming on ten.

Steve saw him looking, and frowned. "Do you have to go? I was hoping you'd stay the night."

"I just got up," Tony said, for once actually regretting his wonky sleep schedule. It would be nice to sleep next to Steve. It seemed like he was a cuddler, and Tony hadn't been held like that in a long time.

"Another time, then," Steve said, but he'd stopped smiling. "Do you want to go out for dinner or something?" He clearly wasn't that interested in food, but he also didn't seem to want go their separate ways yet either.

"Hey," Tony said, he tossed the washcloth at the bathroom, and heard it land on the lino floor with a splat. "Why don't I just stay here. I can do most of my work on my phone, and you can sleep. We can go to Mom's cafe when you get up."

"That would be..." Steve was suddenly shy again. He rolled onto his side and pulled his knees up, and wouldn't quite meet Tony's eye when he said, "I'd appreciate that, Tony."

The immense gratitude at the smallest of favours made Tony want to do something impossibly expansive, like buy Steve a helicopter or a tropical island, or tell him all Tony's secrets. Instead, he turned his back and peeled out of the sweater and slipped under the covers without showing Steve his chest.

Tony lay on his stomach so he could prop himself up on his elbows and work on his phone. He had a full charge, the screen set to night mode, and a whole backlog of stuff Pepper wanted him to do. A retinal scan later, and Tony was logged on. "You're probably doing some good for Stark International. My PA's always trying to chain me down and make me focus on work."

"That's good." Steve got up and slipped under the covers. He snuggled right up to Tony so that he could wrap his arms around Tony's chest, throw a thigh over his legs, and hold on like a limpet. Steve's breathing slowed and he seemed to fall sound asleep almost instantly.

Tony couldn't say he minded one bit.

* * *

At some point in the night, Tony must have fallen asleep, because he woke up curled up around a pillow, facing an empty bed. He groped around until he found his phone on the bedside table. It had a sticky note on it that read, _Gone for a run. ♥ Steve._

It was five in the morning, and would still be dark. Tony supposed that was the price of all those muscles, and that it was entirely worth it, especially when Steve was the one doing the pre-dawn run while Tony slept.

Tony decided that he needed a walk too, and maybe some time to clear his head. He showered, using Steve's military-issue soap so that he could smell Steve on his skin. Sniffing his sweater, Tony decided that he'd make a run home first and change, then help Maria open. He considered Steve's discarded t-shirt, but it didn't seem like they were at the clothes borrowing phase of their relationship.

Tony left a note saying that he'd meet Steve at the cafe, and stepped out into the pre-dawn streets. The wind had picked up overnight, and now blasted spatters of rain down the streets and swirled trash across the pavement. City workers were up, and a few other huddled souls with service industry jobs. He wondered where Steve was jogging, up towards the park, probably. Tony passed a handful of other people on their own post party trudges, and bet that not one of them had just enjoyed as good a night as Tony had. He was still floating from the sex, and from sleeping beside someone and being held, and from not having to worry about of everything.

The rain was sticking in Tony's hair, making his bangs flop into his eyes. He slicked it back, feeling the trickle of cold water down the back of his neck, and wishing he hadn't walked over the night before. Maybe he should flag a cab, but it was only a couple blocks now. Tony had thought he'd wanted the walk to clear his head, but his thoughts just kept drifting back to Steve kneeling in front of him, the sound Steve's made when Tony kissed him, the taste of Tony's come on Steve's lips. They could kiss again at the cafe. Tony wanted to crawl into Steve's bed, pull the covers over him, and never crawl out again. Maybe next time, he'd talk Steve into fucking him, or maybe Steve liked to go the other way. Tony figured he could just about handle that.

Thoughts of what Steve's ass would feel like around Tony's cock were keeping Tony happily warm and distracted as he walked through what was settling into proper rain. So distracted that Tony hardly noticed the utility van parked illegally at the corner. His brain clicked back into the real world when the door slid open as he approached.

Tony instinctively took a step back, then started to turn, but they were behind him, too. He felt a gun pressed into the small of his back, and then a needle in his neck. He felt his body lifted, his shoulders hit something hard, and Tony realised that he couldn't see. The world had turned red, then it turned black, and then Tony knew nothing at all.

* * *

When Tony came to, he still couldn't see and his head hurt. It took him way too long to realise that he was blindfolded , and didn't suffer some kind of damage to his vision. He also realised that he was tied to a chair, and still wet from the rain. He tried rocking the chair, but it was bolted down.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Tony muttered. Kidnapped twice in two months was bad even for him. He had a panic button on his phone, but hadn't pressed it fast enough, and now he didn't feel the weight of the phone in his pocket anymore. Maybe Rhodey was right about him needing a bodyguard. He wondered if he could make the armour more portable, maybe carry it in a suitcase or something. S.K.I.N. technology would make it light enough, he thought. If he got out of this one, Tony was going to have to work on that. Tony gave the chair one last violent rock, bruising his back, and yelled, "What now?"

Tony tried to listen for clues as to where he was, but the room was silent. No hum of wiring or rattle of pipes, no traffic outside. It was cold, but like a basement in New York cold, not cold like it would be outside in the rain or in a fridge. Tony took a deep breath and smelled damp concrete, and maybe some kind of mildew. His own sweater was getting pretty rank too. He might be past the dry cleaning stage on that one.

"I liked this sweater," he yelled. "You're paying for it."

Still nothing. At least the cuffs binding his hands to the chair weren't too tight, though the tape around his ankles was going to make his feet go numb eventually. His mouth felt dry, probably from whatever they'd shot into his neck.

"I want a glass of water!" he tried, but that was no good either. It was too early in the morning for this shit, and Tony hadn't had a coffee yet. "Or I could really use an espresso!'

Tony sighed, and settled in for the long haul. He passed the time by visualising how the portable version of the armour might fold down, remembering the Transformers he'd had as a kid. One of the things he loved about his work now, he'd always told himself, was that his younger self would be delighted by it. He'd grown up to get all of the money, and all of the toys, and no one to tell him what to do.

No one but Yinsen, it turned out. Maybe it was time to pack up the toys and grow up. Tony sighed. He hated getting kidnapped. It made him introspective.

He distracted himself by remembering what Steve had felt like when he'd wrapped his arms around Tony and fallen asleep. He'd been so trusting, and so warm. For all that Tony had been wondering all week what Steve would be like in bed, it had been the trust that had shocked him. More so because of that reserve he'd sensed in Steve. Tony didn't know if his main concern was that they hadn't known each other long enough for that kind of relationship, or that Steve should know him well enough to know better by now. Maybe it was a bit of both.

A metal door rattled and clanked open. Tony didn't think it had been locked, which was just stupid. What if he'd been able to pick handcuffs? Tony should learn to pick handcuffs. He heard the footsteps of at least two people in heavy boots.

"Who are you, and what do you want this time?" Tony demanded. "Fair warning, last people who kidnapped me got blown up."

That got him a smack across the face and a bloody lip. Tony tasted iron and prodded his teeth with his tongue: all okay.

"Shut up and co-operate," a woman's voice snapped.

"Offer me an incentive, and I'll consider it," Tony answered. he didn't recognise the voice, which at least meant it wasn’t that A.I.M. woman again, the Scientist Supreme.

"Shut up and co-operate, and I won't hit you again."

"That's more of a threat, than an incentive."

She smacked him again.

Tony sighed. The day had started so well, too. "Look, you don't just grab someone like me off a street corner in front of his apartment building and expect no one to notice. You have a pretty limited time to do something with me before hell and rescue falls on your heads."

"No one will find our secret base," the woman snapped, but she didn't hit him.

"Oh, yeah? A.I.M. has a secret base too, wild. Well, _had_ a secret base. I blew it up, after they kidnapped me."

This time he got a punch in the kidneys, which hurt like hell. Tony had meant not to cry out, and he didn't, but his breath whooshed out of his body in a sort of whimper. It took him a long time to be able to breathe properly again after that.

"Ready to co-operate?" the woman asked once Tony was able to sit up straight.

"Ready to consider it," Tony admitted.

"We need you to unlock your phone."

"What?" Tony said, and then, "No!" and then, "It won't do you any good. All Stark International data is encrypted with two-factor authentication." Getting into Tony's phone on its own would be enough to get her a handful of selfies, a dozen incomprehensible notes to himself, and his Neko Atsume and Juice Jam accounts.

"We're not interested in your company, Stark," she snapped. "We want your contact list."

"Huh," Tony said before he could help himself, but that was a new one on him. "I've got to warn you, this is not the kind of thing that gets you a date with Rihanna."

She laughed, long and low, and Tony couldn't help shivering. He'd originally thought she was mildly incompetent, but that was not the laugh of someone who had all all their hinges bolted together.

"What about a date with Captain America?" she asked. "Or perhaps a ransom demand. Do you think the good captain would trade himself for you?"

"Say what now?" Tony had heard something about Cap being back after disappearing in WWII, but hadn't really paid attention to the buzz. It had gone down when he'd been in the hospital after Rhodey rescued him, and he still wasn't completely sure it hadn't been a morphine hallucination. Not having an answer, Tony ran his mouth instead, "Oh, right. I've been trying to get my assistant to set me up with him. Not sure he's swings that way, but a lot of guys make an exception for me. Never did get his number though, so you're out of luck."

He'd expected that to piss her off, and delay cracking his phone too hopefully, but he was faced with what he could only interpret as stunned silence. Then she said coldly, "Hit him again, Bob. I'm tired of his games."

Bob got the other kidney, and this time Tony did cry out. The blow sent a jolt of pain up his spine, and he tried to gasp and found he couldn't suck any air in. He gaped soundlessly, feeling like a landed fish. An edge of panic crept into his brain. What if Bob had broken whatever it was that let him breathe? What if Tony suffocated sitting in the chair, and Kidnapper Lady never got into his phone because her dumb muscle killed her hostage. Tony closed his mouth, shut his eyes behind the blindfold, and focused on getting his lungs to work. Something clicked, and he was able to suck in a huge gasping breath, and then subsided into panting. Everything hurt from the punches, and breathing again only made it hurt worse. He'd have thrown up, but that seemed unbearably painful.

"Dammit," Tony growled when he could speak again. "Don't even know what that one was for. Never met Captain America."

"Whatever," the woman snapped. "Tell me the code for your phone."

"It's a retinal scan, and I'm blindfolded," Tony snapped back. He tried to think who was in his contact list. His mom was, so were Rhodey and Pepper's private numbers, and the president, but only a semi-public line. Most of his little black book wasn't—Tony deleted contacts when affairs ended—but Steve's number would be. It was just listed as _Steve_ with no details. She would probably pass that by.

"Fine. Bob?"

Bob ripped the blindfold off, and Tony had to shut his eyes against the sudden light. He opened them just a crack, and tried to get his bearings. He was in a small cement room with just the chair, a sink and toilet, and a bunk, all of which looked very much like a cell to Tony. There were two women and a man standing in front of him, all wearing some kind of green and yellow tunics and cowls. It took Tony a moment to recognise the uniform of the weird fascist group Hydra. "Shit," he muttered. It was like he was going for some kind of terrorist kidnapping bingo. It would be the Sons of the Serpent next. He really did need a bodyguard.

One of the women, who he assumed was was the one who'd been talking, was holding Tony's phone about six inches in front of his face. The clock showed he'd been out for three hours. Would that be enough time for someone to look for him? Only Steve knew his plan for the morning.

Ms. Hydra had the authentication screen up on the phone, and the scan was blinking, looking for an eye to lock onto. "Open it!"

"You know, I think I've changed my mind," Tony said and closed his eyes again. She was way too into the phone, and he didn't want her near it. "I just know you're going to sink my Puzzle Quest 2 stats."

"Hold his eye open," Ms. Hydra snapped. Bob came over and forced Tony's right eyelids apart. Tony rolled his eye as far back as it would go, and the phone beeped at the failed match, two more of those and it would lock down. "What if we scooped the eyeball out?" Ms. Hydra asked.

Tony couldn't tell if she was stupid enough to think that would work or not. From the way the other two were nodding, she might be.

"That would blow half the blood vessels. The phone wouldn't recognise squat." Tony was trying for scornful, but his voice ended up a little too high and panicky to land it. He already had a heart condition from the last time; he did not want to think about losing depth perception.

"We could try," Ms. Hydra said. "You have two eyes."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Tony muttered. He jerked his head out of Bob's hold and blinked to clear his vision. "Just hold up the damn phone. Let's get this over with."

She held up the phone, Tony stared into it, holding his eye perfectly still. The red light played over his eyeball, and the phone chirped an approval. Tony blinked rapidly three times. The phone chirped again, and then bricked everything except the games. Score one for the StarkPhone's security features. Depending on how far underground they were, it would also have pinged out an _S.O.S._ to Rhodey and Pepper.

It took Ms. Hydra about five minutes of paging through the home screens to work out what Tony had done. At which point she screamed and threw the phone at the floor with almost enough force to crack the screen. Stomping on it a couple times did the trick. They were actually wearing yellow rubber boots. Whoever was in charge of Hydra's design department, should be the one to have their eyes scooped out.

When Ms. Hydra pulled herself together, glared at Tony, and then turned to Bob and said in a voice that could have frozen Honolulu, "Go to the mess and get me an ice cream scoop. I'm not getting this asshole's blood all over my gloves."

Bob hesitated. "Jason broke it. We put in a request last month for a..."

"Get a spoon then!" Ms. Hydra snapped. "Christ!"

Oh shit. "Seriously?" Tony demanded. "You've kidnapped the most brilliant mind of the twenty-first century, who has access to billions of dollars, and you're going to blind him out of spite? For some star-spangled joker who's been asleep for seventy years?"

Bob glanced between Tony and Ms. Hydra and scampered out of the room. Twenty seconds later, Tony heard two sharp thuds. Five seconds after that, Captain America burst in and clocked Ms. Hydra in the face with his shield. He leaped four feet into the air, and kicked the other Hydra woman in the face. They all hit the ground at the same time, leaving Tony staring wide eyed.

"Sorry it took so long," Cap said. He had a flat NPR accent, and sounded genuinely concerned about Tony's well being. After he'd stripped the guns off the fallen Hydra agents, he dropped to a crouch in front of Tony and looked him over. "Are you okay, Mr. Stark? You're bleeding."

Tony studied what he could see under the cowl: a strong jaw and thin lips, wide blue eyes with just the edges of blond eyebrows showing above them. One of the eyebrows had a healing cut bisecting it. Ms. Hydra had said Tony had known Captain America.

"'Some joker who's been asleep for seventy years,'" Tony said again, almost to himself. What had Steve wanted to do? _Sleep for about a century_ , he'd said, and then he'd laughed. He'd joked about signing up in 1940, too. "Steve?"

Cap looked away, and Tony knew he was right.

"Holy shit." Tony jerked at his cuffs, which didn't more any more than they had the first ten times he'd tried it, but now made his side hurt so much he had to bit back another cry. "You're—"

Steve struck through the chain that linked the cuffs with two sharp blows of his shield. "We'll talk later, Tony. Can you walk? I can carry you." He sliced through the tape holding Tony's feet too, and held out a hand.

Tony took it, feeling warm leather against his skin. "Later," Tony agreed, pulling his thoughts back to the present moment. He took a small step—making sure not to tread on Ms. Hydra, no matter how satisfying it would be. His sides ached from the punches and pain jolted up his spine when he shifted his weight. "I'm good to walk. Don't know about running."

"Okay. Stay behind me," Steve said, still in his clipped professional accent. Tony wondered how long he'd spent learning that. No wonder he wasn't thrown by the press. A bit of century-old Lower East Side slipped back into Steve's voice when he added, "I'll get you out of here, Tony. I promise."

The hallway was empty except for Bob passed out against the wall.

"How'd you find me?" Tony asked, but Steve shushed him and jogged forward, keeping his body low and his shield up.

Tony did his best to keep up. His ribs and back blazed, and now his heart didn't feel right. They were in what looked like a sub-apartment building storage space, with fenced off lockers and the occasional cell like Tony's. These had open doors, but Steve was still checking them as he went. Tony groaned softly when he saw the stairwell at the far end of the hall. He really didn't have stairs in him.

"You all right?" Steve asked, dropping back just before the entrance. "I laid out a distraction that should keep Hydra busy for while yet, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is coming, but I want to keep you clear of a firefight when it happens . Major Carter's not known for her light touch when it comes to Hydra."

"Getting clear sounds good," Tony grunted. Not being in the stairwell when Hydra met S.H.I.E.L.D. sounded even better. He steadied himself on the wall, feeling dizzy and a little nauseated. "Let's get this over with."

Instead of turning back to the stairs, Steve looked him over and then pulled his glove off with his teeth and pressed the back of his hand to Tony's forehead. His skin felt hot, almost burning. Steve was starting to blur a bit around the edges, too, which Tony didn't think was at all healthy.

"You okay, Cap?"

"We're not doing this," Steve snarled. He flipped his shield onto his back, scooped Tony into his arms like he was a child, and sprinted up the stairs three at a time. He came face to face with a green and yellow blur half way up, ploughed thought it shoulder first, and kept going. It was one of the smoothest rides Tony had ever had. They passed some grey and white blurs, who talked, but Tony didn't really hear what they said. They had guns, he thought.

Cap laid Tony down on something soft, and pushed his cowl back. He really was Steve.

"That explains the bruises," Tony said, and the vernacular, and the accent, and dividing by fifteen. It didn't explain the comments about the Internet. Tony would ask about that later. If there was a later. He felt like he was still tumbling, and the impact when he hit the bottom was probably going to hurt.

"You're going into shock, Tony," Steve said. He was holding Tony's hand, and his hands were bare and impossibly warm. Steve was always warm. "Hey, come on, stay with me here, mister. You hear me?"

They were moving, not just forward like an ambulance, but up and down like a helicopter, but Tony didn't hear rotors, just the hum of an engine and the whoosh of air. He held onto Steve's hand, not wanting to let go of his warmth, not wanting to slip away.

He last thing he saw was Steve's face as he leaned over Tony. His lips were moving, but Tony didn't hear what he was saying.

You really could drown in those blue eyes, Tony thought.

* * *

Tony knew he was in a hospital before he'd completely regained consciousness. He'd spent enough time in one medical facility or another across the globe over the years that the scent of medical-grade disinfectant was ingrained in his soul. As was the feel of being on an saline drip, this one regrettably without much in the way of painkillers in it. His sides really were killing him.

Possibly literally, now that Tony's head had cleared a little bit to realise what his symptoms had pointed to. He blinked his eyes open and was glad the ward lights hand been dimmed for the evening, though not enough to obscure the logo on the wall. At least Tony was relatively safe, but how long had he been out?

"Hey."

Tony tipped his head over enough to make out Steve sitting beside his bed. He was still in uniform, less his cowl and gloves, and had a book open in his lap. The folding chair looked ridiculously small under his bulk. Tony thought of Ferdinand the Bull, and realised that he was probably still a little loopy. "Blood loss?" he asked.

"Yup," Steve agreed. "Internal bleeding. Next time, try not to antagonise the terrorist kidnappers."

"Right," Tony said. It must have been one of those punches to the side. "You're an idiot, Bob," he muttered. "At least A.I.M. were competent."

"Hydra," Steve agreed with dismissive scorn, then he sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair, which was already standing on end. It had been a long night for him, Tony thought. "Look, Tony," Steve said. He was looking at his bright red boots, and Tony braced himself for the _I don't think this is working out_ speech. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten one in a hospital bed, though he hadn't expected one from Captain America so soon after regaining consciousness. Tony hadn't expected Captain America at all. "I'm sorry." Steve's voice was small and miserable, and Tony didn't like how unhappy he sounded, even if he should be miserable about dumping Tony in a S.H.I.E.L.D. infirmary.

"Yeah," Tony said, "me too."

Steve nodded slightly, like he'd been expecting that response. "I should have stayed closer to you," he said. "I should have realised that media buzz about us dating would put you in danger. Hydra knows my face."

"I'm sorry, what?" said Tony, but Steve was on roll.

"I should have told you who I was on that second date," he continued. "I wanted to, but it was just so gosh darn nice being plain old Steve Rogers for once. Even Rick treats me like Captain America half the time, and..." He hunched in on himself, and Tony thought of how he'd been trying to make himself smaller the first day they'd met in his mom's cafe. "And I really liked you. I didn't want to make things more complicated than they needed to be. Anyway, that's no excuse. I'm sorry I got you kidnapped."

"Oh," Tony said. Was that it? "Oh. Don't worry about it, Steve. I seriously get kidnapped all the time."

"What?" Steve said, he looked up at Tony, his eyes wide and appalled. "What do you mean, 'all the time'? Tony!"

That did sound pretty bad, Tony realised. He blamed the drugs. "I thought it was something serious, like breaking up with me. You're not, right?"

"Tony!" Steve said again, but he was smiling, just a tiny bit at the corners of his mouth and a little crinkle around his eyes. It warmed Tony's heart. "We have got to talk about a protection detail."

"You want to guard my body?" Tony asked, trying to match Steve's smile. His face hurt, and he belatedly remembered his split lip. Fucking Hydra.

"Clearly somebody has to." Steve bent down and kissed Tony on the forehead. "And no," he said into Tony's ear, "I'm not breaking up with you."

"Good to hear," Tony said, hoping his flippant tone covered his very real relief. "And as to protection, I have something worked out in that line."

* * *

Three days later, they were sitting in the back booth of Maria's cafe, a new selection of Steve's artwork hanging above them. Steve was telling Tony something about different art marketing websites, and the pros and cons of each, which was enough to make Tony's head spin. Maria had made them both lattes with entwined hearts drawn in the foam, and Steve was staring at his in what Tony was coming to recognise as his _Wow! The 21st-century is pretty swell_ expression. He hadn't sipped it yet, and even dividing by fifteen—which Tony had worked out was roughly the inflation since 1945—had made Steve frown at the prices on the menu. He also couldn't stop holding Tony's hand across the table.

Steve looked up from his coffee suddenly and said, "I almost lost you."

Tony felt like he should apologise, but he didn't. He felt like he should tell Steve it was no big deal, but it was. Finally, he squeezed Steve's hand and said, "My life is like this. I think it's always going to be like this, except when it's worse." The _you can live with that or not_ was implied, but Tony was pretty sure Steve got it.

Steve thought about that for a few minutes, taking the smallest possible sips of his coffee so as not to disturb the hearts.

Tony wasn't used to that kind of introspection, not from a lover and not from himself. He usually said the first off-the-cuff thing that sounded plausible, and hoped for the best. That or he had Pepper write a speech for him. Tony waited, and his thoughts went back to the armour: if this was his life, wouldn't it be better to fight through it? It would certainly be an improvement on getting kidnapped every other month. He could take the fight to Hydra, and to A.I.M., in a way that he wasn't able to right now. He could help with natural disasters. Maybe he could even fight alongside Steve.

The clink of Steve's coffee cup on the saucer made Tony start. "I understand," Steve said. "I appreciate that you're not promising something you can't offer. I think that's true for me too. I'm not made for peacetime, at least not yet."

"But you want to keep seeing me?" Tony had long since given up on not sounding needy around Steve. It always came out in the end.

"Yeah," Steve said. "I guess the long-distance will be hard, when you move back to California."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that." Tony fished his coffee, and stood. "I've got something in my apartment that I want to show you."

Steve laughed. "Etchings?" he asked.

"Something like, that," Tony told him. "Come on. You'll love it."

Tony offered his hand, and Steve took it, and they walked out of the cafe without letting go.


End file.
